Rises The Night (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles 2)

"And Lilith would have had the Gold Clasp in her hands." A tug of a smile caught her mouth. "We have thwarted her more than once, have we not, amore mio?"

"We have. You have." His eyes, pupil and iris the same black color, glittered with seriousness. "You and Max and the others… but you, most of all. And now it is Victoria's turn. She is destined for greatness. You know it, because she carries two generations of Venator skills, from both your brother and her flighty mother. You must let her achieve it."

"I think in the end it was best that Victoria's mother didn't accept her calling as Venator. I don't believe Melly could have given up her love for Society in favor of hunting vampires." The last bit of levity and comfort seeped away. "Kritanu, it's Max I am most worried about."

"You have no word from him?"

She shook her head slowly. "Not in more than ten months. I was not completely truthful with Victoria when I told her Wayren was with him. She was in Spain, and then Paris, until a month ago, when she learned I had not heard from Max since last August, shortly after he arrived in Venezia. Wayren went back to Italia to see if she could find him… but she has not. No one seems to know where he is." Lifting her eyes, she looked at her sanam, her beloved. "She writes that the Tutela is rising again. I am afraid it is the doing of this vampire called Nedas."

"They have risen before, and we have stopped them."

"There is something different this time, Kritanu. And I fear I do not have the energy, nor the clarity of mind, to know what it is… what to do. I am old and slow. And I ache."

"It is Victoria's turn, pyar. You will do what you can, but you cannot do it all. And do not worry for Max. He wears the vis bulla, though he was not born to it. He is one of the few who passed the life-and-death test to do so. There is a reason for it."

"I know that. But I fear for him still."

Chapter 3

An Encounter with a Most Discreet Gentleman

Victoria had walked the night many times since she had taken on her duty as a Venator. The freedom of wearing trousers and going where she wished to go had been a joyful adventure, despite the danger of stalking the undead. Knowing that no other woman from the ton would desire—or be able—to walk empty, dangerous streets alone fueled her excitement.Knowing that even a man would be in more danger, traveling Great St. Andrews or Little White Lion of St. Giles alone, on foot, made her feel invincible.

But tonight she was uneasy. Her nerves felt like her hair did after her maid, Verbena, brushed it too much—buzzing with static and energy. She waited for the back of her neck to chill or tingle. She gripped her stake, holding it ready in the folds of her man's jacket, when before she would leave it sagging in her pocket until she needed it.

She could have remained at St. Heath's Row, safe behind its cross-studded gates and stone walls. She could have given herself another night or two, after her experience at the Silver Chalice. She could even have waited until Aunt Eustacia heard from Wayren about the amulet she'd found. She could have spent the evening poring over the limited selection of manuscripts and scrolls that her aunt kept at her home, looking for some clue as to whether the amulet had been left by the demon she'd beheaded, or whether it was, perhaps, something Sebastian had lost months ago.

But she had not. If the vampires were indeed back, it was her duty to hunt and kill them. She could not hide in her husband's home and wonder how she would kill a demon if she faced one again tonight.

Her duty was to keep the innocent, the unwitting, safe from the immortals who would feed on their very life. If the residents of London—indeed, of all of England—had any concept how easily evil walked along with them, there would be mass hysteria.

So instead of attending dinner parties, or visiting clothiers and millineries, Victoria trained and planned and hunted.

A shadow detaching itself from the corner of an alley caught her attention as she walked by. She felt it step into her wake and pad quietly behind her, silent, oh, so silent.

The back of her neck did not cool. She didn't sense anything else prickling at her nerves, either. This, then, was a mortal who stalked her tonight, and Victoria waited for him to move on her, releasing the stake into the depths of her pocket. Despite her wariness, she was ready to fight something she knew how to fight.

Rounding a corner, Victoria took two steps before she saw the other figure coming at her from the left. She tipped with a graceful swoop and slid out the knife she wore strapped to her trousered thigh, letting it glint dully in the dim light. Her fingers trembled, but she kept her mind clear.

If she needed to use the knife, she would keep her mind clear and steady. She would not go berserk tonight.

"No need fer that, sirrah," growled a cockney burr just behind her. Something sharp pushed into the back of her coat.

The second figure blocked the walkway, legs spread and strong, something silver in his hand. His face was shadowed, his bulk generous. The bigger they were…

Victoria stopped, calm, her hand holding the knife dangling at her side. She did not turn to see the man behind, but kept her eyes on the one in front while listening, and feeling, what was behind. Her heart zipped along at a steady pace, her muscles tightened in anticipation, and energy swelled inside her.

"Ye ken put that away; ye won't be needin' it, now, sirrah. All we wan' is yer valyables."

"I have nothing of value, so let me pass," she told them, not attempting to hide her woman's voice.

She saw the jolt of recognition in the man straddling the walkway—the moment he realized she was not a foolish' dandy stumbling home from the faro tables, but a defenseless woman. Even in the spare light from the dirty street-lamp, she saw his lips stretch in a smile, saw the gap in front where a tooth might once have grown.

"Oh, ye mightn't have nothin' in yer pockets, but ye got somethin' else we want," the first man said from behind her. He was no longer poking her with what she'd assumed was the tip of a knife. Apparently, despite her weapon, he did not feel the need for one of his own anymore.

All the more fool he was, and that became apparent when he reached for her.

The moment his fingers closed over her upper arm, Victoria reacted. She whipped easily from his grip and spun, knife flashing. Her hat slipped off, and the braid she'd loosely pinned up fell and swirled about her shoulders as she brought the blade down along his sleeve, then made a point of withdrawing it. The man squealed when she sliced, but her next move was hampered by a shove from behind.